Tears Of Love 1

The wedding itself was small and intimate, just immediate family and a few mutual college friends who lived within easy driving distance, held in the gazebo of the main park at the center of town with its small scenic lake providing a beautiful backdrop. Yet I was not focused upon the beauty of Nature or the aesthetics of the wedding.

I was focused instead upon my bride, her radiance making the third-hand homemade wedding dress appear like a brand-new designer dress. During the entire ceremony, I had to consciously, continually remind myself to not focus my attention upon her young woman at my side. But that personal challenge became much easier when I realized that she would always be at my side, forever.

Neither of us had much money, and what little we had was spent upon the minister's fees and the rental of the gazebo and the nearby picnic pavilion where we held the reception afterward. Yet no one really cared about the "lack" of money or the extremely low-key wedding and reception. What was most important was the intimacy of the ceremony and the reception, and the fact that we shared this wonderful experience with those who meant the most to us: our family and our closest friends.

But finally, it was time for my wife (at last, my wife!!!) and I to talk the seven blocks back to our tiny home, the dwelling we had shared for nearly eighteen months already. A few hours later, we were in the car, driving out of the city with our equipment and supplies in the trunk.

Most of our friends and even our families had "balked" at the idea of a camping honeymoon, but for us, it was perfect. Money was certainly a consideration for this odd choice of a honeymoon, but the location held a very special memory for both of us.

Several hours later, as the sun set beyond the distant mountain ridge, she knelt at the campfire as the traditional pork and beans simmered upon the coals. Once I had finished erecting our canvas home for the next three nights, I joined her at the small fire, nestling up behind her and enveloping her in my arms.

"Tighter," she pleaded quietly, and I obliged her. "Please, tighter." I squeezed her with my arms again, encircling her about the lower ribcage, just as she liked. We were both silent for a long time as she contemplated the flames and the coals before her.

"How do you feel?" I asked in a whisper, my face buried in her lengthy golden hair. "Do you 'feel' like a wife yet?"

"Not really," she admitted after a brief hesitation. "I'm scared yet excited, happy yet nervous. This is what I have dreamed of for so long, and now that the moment is finally here, I'm almost unsure how to react, or what I should feel."

As she leaned back against my chest, my arms loosened their hold upon her and my hands slid upward to her breasts, caressing them reverently, providing her a taste of activities to come.

"Is this a hint?" she asked quietly with her "innocent schoolgirl" voice. "Is this a preview of what you want to do with me after dinner?"

"Indeed," I replied, a slight giggle evident in my voice as I gave each breast a firm squeeze. "But if you want more, you'll have to wait until later."

"Lovemaking in the dewy grass by the river in the moonlight?" she asked, "Just like the night I first gave myself to you?"

"Just like the night I spilled your pure blood upon the ground," I confirmed. "But this time, at least, I won't need to hurt you or make you bleed."

"True," she said with a contented sigh, her nervousness being chased away by her memories, "but that was a very good pain, a sweet pain that I only wish I could experience again for you."

I thought about that for a moment. "Do you really, truly mean that?" I asked, a little surprised by her admission. "Granted, I've beaten you a little in our bondage experimentation, but never with the intent of truly hurting you.:

"I truly mean that," she replied, closing her hands over mine so I would squeeze her breasts a little harder. "I once read a medieval-based erotica story about a princess who was kidnapped, and the wizard who oversaw her rape and humiliation cast a spell upon her so that each time the rapists withdrew from her body, her hymen would magically reform, so that each thrust into her was a retaking of her virginity. The men in that story took sadistic pleasure in her pain and her agony. But I wish that I could also offer you my virginity with each thrust into me, so that I would again cry tears of love for you, especially on the first night of our honeymoon."

"'Tears of love," I said softly, more to myself than to her. "So, you want me to hurt you in the most intimate way possible? Is that it?"

"Yes," she admitted softly. "I wish I could bathe you once more with my blood, feel the brutality of your entrance as you connect with me in the most intimate way possible. Those tears I shed on that night over there by the river, they were definitely tears of love. And if I cry again tonight, it will be in part due to the memory of that wonderful pain that truly sealed our unspoken, unwritten contract to cherish each other forever."

Later that night, in the dewy grass by the river, with the moon and the zillions of stars smiling upon us, her tears of love flowed freely, unabashedly, gloriously. There was no blood and no pain, but her tears of love flowed nonetheless.

...and at the end, tears of love fell from me onto her. The re-enactment of that first experience only deepened my love for this wonderful, selfless woman I now have the deepest honor of calling "my wife."